“Friend,” said Cuthbert, “I do not understand you: it is not my custom to join in prayer with an unknown stranger; there is thy bed, and here is mine:--let us lie down upon them in peace, and commune with our own hearts and be still.” “Verily,” rejoined the stranger, “thou art afraid:--it is no wonder:--thou art but a mere babe of grace, and thine eyes do see but dimly the glories of my high calling;--but I tell thee thou art a chosen vessel of the Lord,--and even now I feel my bowels moved towards thee, and the spirit of prayer is upon me, and I must wrestle with the powers of darkness to deliver thy poor soul from the snare of the fowler. This is my command,--and even now I am appointed unto thee for an angel of defence, and the fight is begun.” The stranger now threw himself upon his knees, and poured forth a long, rambling and blasphemous petition,--the words of which made Cuthbert shudder. However, as he had been already told that there was no other chamber or bed vacant, and as he was greatly fatigued, he lay down to sleep, silently commending himself to the care of God, and endeavouring to substitute a feeling of pity for the deep disgust with which this crazy chamber-fellow inspired him. The last sounds of which he was conscious before his heavy eyes became sealed in forgetfulness were groanings from the adjoining bed--nor did he awake in the morning till it was broad daylight. He looked around--the chamber was empty;--at this he felt thankful: and, supposing that his last odd companion had travelled forward at an earlier hour, he arose, and proceeded to dress himself; but he instantly discovered that his purse was gone. He went forth on the stairs, and called loudly for the landlord. It was some time before he made his appearance; and when he did so, he listened to the tale with hard indifference, and coarse incredulity. “Ah! that’s an old story, my devil’s scholar, but it wo’n’t go down with me:--you shan’t budge from the Boar’s Head till you pay your shot, I can tell you; and your nag shall go to the market cross before I let you ride off without paying for provender.” Cuthbert’s fury was roused to the uttermost; but his hot words were only laughed at by the rosy Boniface, who soon left him. He slipped on his clothes with all haste, and came down into the guest parlour, where the Cavalier and the two military men were already seated at breakfast by a cheerful fire. He stated his case before them all with the warm earnestness of truth. The Cavalier picked his teeth and whistled; but the younger of the other two seemed very much to sympathise in the embarrassment of Cuthbert, which in fact was more serious than he himself apprehended; for mine host came presently into the parlour to say, that his horse and his vallise were taken away by his chamber-fellow before dawn.